


The More Things Change

by Skew



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skew/pseuds/Skew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Bucky's concerned, neither Steve's transformation or the events of the war have changed the friendship between them. However, when a mission doesn't quite go to plan, he finds himself making a foolish decision that might change things forever. (NB: contains cartoonish violence, some use of period-appropriate offensive language.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell/gifts).



The strangest thing about fighting alongside Captain America was that it didn't feel that strange.

Bucky guessed he felt that way because he'd been fighting alongside Steve Rogers for most of his life. The first time he'd ever met Steve, he'd been in a fight. Scrappy little guys who spoke first and thought later were ten a penny on the Lower East Side, but Steve was by far the smallest, weediest, mouthiest guy Bucky had ever met. It was a good thing Bucky had taken a shine to him, or else he'd probably be lying at the bottom of the Hudson by now.

These days, of course, Steve was more than capable of looking after himself, but he still just had to find a way of making things complicated. Anyone else in his situation would've stayed Stateside and had themselves a nice easy war, selling bonds and fucking chorus girls, but that was far too much like sensible for Steve. He wouldn't be happy unless he was in combat, and of course he couldn't just be a regular soldier. In a matter of weeks he'd gone from being a live-action propaganda poster to become America's first line of defence against a bunch of renegade super-Nazis led by a guy with a skull for a head, and by lucky coincidence he'd managed to bump into Bucky just in time to bring him along for the ride.

Which, all put together, actually was pretty damn strange. The thing was, the whole ludicrous situation was so typically _Steve_ , that to Bucky, it just felt like business as usual.

What Bucky found much harder to get used to was sleeping in foxholes. He was a city boy at heart. No amount of training was going to convince him that being made to sleep out in the cold in what amounted to a shallow grave was anything other than barbaric. He woke up freezing cold and aching all over, and when he pushed his hand back through his dirty hair, he found a slug.

"Ack!" He leapt to his feet and flung it as far from him as possible.

"Do you mind?"

Bucky looked up to see that the rest of the squad were already awake and sat around a small campfire. Falsworth gave him a disdainful look and brushed the slug off the shoulder of his greatcoat.

"Sergeant Barnes, did your mother never tell you it's bad manners to fling molluscs around at breakfast?" he said.

"Sorry, Falsworth," Bucky said, scrambling out of the foxhole. "Next time I'll wait until lunch."

He strolled over to join the others. Dernier was tending to a pot of something foul-smelling simmering gently over the fire. Steve was peering intently at something propped on his lap, scribbling away with a stub of pencil. As he heard Bucky's feet squelching through the mud, he looked up and smiled.

"Hey, glad you could join us." He shifted up on his seat, patting the space next to him. There really wasn't enough room on the log for Bucky even then, but Bucky did his best to perch on the end and not look too visibly discomfited.

He leaned over to see what Steve had been working on. He'd thought it might be a map or something, but it turned out to be his sketchbook, currently containing a hastily-drawn light-and-shade study of Dernier hunched over the fire.

"Hey, that's not bad," Bucky said. "You know, one day, if you work really hard, you could be an artist."

"Ha ha," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "Sleep well?"

"Not really. I'd say I feel like death warmed up, but I'm not warmed up yet. How come you didn't wake me?"

"Well, you looked so peaceful lying there. Like a big stubbly baby."

"You've got such a beautiful way with words."

Steve grinned and flipped the sketchbook closed. He yawned and stretched, and it was like watching a landslide, muscles rippling and shifting under his tight blue shirt. Bucky still couldn't quite get his head round the fact that anyone could look like that, let alone runty little Steve Rogers. When they'd hugged goodbye at the fair, Steve only came up to the middle of Bucky's chest, and now he looked like a Michelangelo sculpture come to life. Bucky had always thought of him as a goofy little brother, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore his curiosity as to what that big strong body would feel like wrapped around him.

"Are you okay?" Steve said, frowning.

Shit. Bucky hated it when Steve caught him gawping. He blinked and shook himself.

"Got a case of the early-morning stares," he said. "There any coffee going?"

"I've got some left here," Gabe said, holding up a mess tin. "You'll have to reheat it, though."

"I'm not drinking it for the taste." Bucky took the tin and downed the contents in one go, grimacing as the cold, thick coffee slithered down his throat.

Gabe winced. "That's horrible."

"Not as horrible as the smell coming from that pot," Jim said. "What the hell are you cooking in there, Dernier, old socks?"

Dernier shook his head. " _Non_. It is K-rations _a la_ Dernier." He ladled a serving of brownish slop into a mess tin and offered it to Jim. "You want the first taste, Private Morita?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "I thought you French were meant to be good at cooking."

"Not with American ingredients. Now eat it, or be hungry!" Dernier poked the tin at Jim, who accepted it with great reluctance. "Who is next?"

"Who votes we eat Dernier instead?" Jim said, scooping up a spoonful and watching with horror as it slowly dripped off his spoon.

"C'mon, guys," Steve said, holding up his hands. "Just hold your noses and eat up. And do it quickly, too. We've got a base to raid."

 

"Why can't HYDRA build a base some place with decent weather for a change?" Jim grumbled as they scrambled up the muddy slope.

The route they were taking was not the simplest one. The complex was located in the heart of the Vosges mountains in northern France, not many miles west of the Maginot Line. The factory itself was down in a valley, bounded on one side by a river and on the other side by a sheer cliff face. Steve and his squad were relying on HYDRA expecting them to be coming along the roadway built through the woods, rather than descending on the base from the mountains above.

They were also, at that moment, quietly having regretted not having gone by the road, because as soon as they had set off, it'd started raining. It wasn't heavy, but it had continued for hours without pause, slowly but surely turning the earth to sludge and making their clothing wet and heavy.

"Please," Falsworth said, waving off Jim's remark, "It's only a spot of drizzle."

"Well, maybe it reminds you of home, but I don't like it," Jim said. "It was too damn cold in Italy, too. And in Denmark. Would it kill them to just once build a factory somewhere nice and sunny with a good beach?"

"Careful what you wish for," Bucky butted in. "Lots of islands in the Pacific have sunshine and beaches but I'd rather be here than there."

"Okay, okay, so maybe I don't wanna go to the tropics, but at the very least it'd be nice if the rain could stop for one goddamn day so I could get dry," Jim said.

"Never go on holiday to the Lake District," Falsworth said cheerfully. "The rain comes at you horizontally up there."

Jim scowled and stuck a wet leaf down the back of Falsworth's collar.

"Oh, now that's uncalled for!" A certain amount of shoving ensued. Steve laughed.

"Knock it off, you two," he said, moving in between them. "This is meant to be a stealthy approach, remember?"

They both hung their heads. "Yes, Cap."

Bucky couldn't remember Steve ever having held a position of authority. Back during the time he was beginning to think of as Before - with a capital B and everything - people didn't listen to Steve. Not for lack of him saying anything, either.

Now, though, he gave orders like he'd been doing it all his life. It couldn't just be the looks, either. This army was full of plenty of big knuckleheads nobody would trust to tie their own laces, and also of plenty of skinny little loudmouths whose men would follow them into the jaws of hell. Bucky knew from his few months of experience in the regular army that it wasn't size that made a good officer, but confidence. Steve Before hadn't been a coward, but he'd come across like he had a little too much to prove. Now he didn't need to raise his voice to command people's attention.

That said, the size probably did help, and not just in boosting Steve's self-belief. Nobody liked to argue with a man who could crush your head like a grape.

Bucky was still musing on the idea of Steve giving orders when he was brought back to the present by Dugan bounding past him like a bowler-hatted orangutan.

"Nearly there, fellas!" he called, leaping up the rocks with startling ease. He stopped at the top and peered out, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Yup, this is it. Get your ropes ready, it's all downhill from here."

Bucky put on a burst of energy, determined not to be the last to the top. As he got closer, he began to hear a faint noise in the distance. It was tuneless, whirring, grinding noise, something like the engines of a jet plane, but higher in pitch.

"We can't be as far up as I thought," he said, "I can hear the machinery."

"What?" said Jim. "Don't be ridiculous. I can't hear anything."

Steve paused and cocked his head to one side, frowning. "No, I can hear it too. And is it just me, or is it getting louder?"

Dugan, still peering over the edge, had turned a funny colour. "I don't think that sound's coming from the base." He grabbed for his rifle. "You'd best get up here fast, Cap, they're nearly -"

Before he could finish his sentence, six HYDRA troopers suddenly appeared over the edge of the mountain and shot high into the air above them. Each one was strapped into what looked like the offspring of an unholy union between a rocket and an armchair, two miniature jet engines on their back keeping them aloft while their hands were left free to carry a rifle. Their flight was far from graceful, but that was not the point: they were airborne, they were armed, and they'd caught the Commandos almost entirely by surprise.

The skirmish that followed was short and undignified. It was hard to evade an enemy who were hovering above you and able to whizz out of range at a moment's notice. Bucky soon gave up on trying to fire back and started running, hopping from rock to rock, hoping to draw their attention while Dum-Dum hurled grenades and Steve did that killer-Frisbee thing with his shield. Falsworth shot one down as it dived towards him. Gabe and Dernier took out two by confusing them enough to crash into each other.

Just as they thought they had the upper hand, though, a second flight emerged, followed by reinforcements on foot coming at them from either side. Steve dealt with the jetpack troopers while the rest of the squad concerned themselves with those on the ground. Bucky was cut off, some way from the others. Unable to rejoin the group, he hastily clambered up a tree and reloaded his rifle.

 _Stay cool_ , he told himself. He shut out the noise and chaos around him and focussed on steadying his breathing. Slowly, calmly, he raised his rifle - fixed one of the airborne troopers in his sights - squeezed the trigger as he exhaled.

An arc of red burst from the trooper's head and he slumped in his harness, veering off to the right before crashing into a tree. Bucky shifted his position and took aim at another.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out_. He fired. His shot hit the engines of one of the troopers, device and unfortunate pilot suddenly engulfed in a rolling ball of flame.

"Bucky!"

He blinked and looked down at Steve, who was waving at him. He grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

"Doing alright, Captain!"

" _Bucky!_ Watch out!"

Bucky swivelled round, but too late. He just about had time to see the trooper diving for him before he was knocked off his branch.

 

When he came to, he was lying on a wooden floor in a lightless room. No, scratch that, not a room - unless he was very much mistaken and queasier than he realised, the constant pitching up and down and faint grumble of an engine suggested he was in the back of a truck.

Bucky raised his head and squinted through the darkness. He could just about make out the shapes of people sat on benches either side of him, and hear voices coming through from the driver's cabin. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but going by the murmuring, sibilant cadence of the words, they were speaking French. Not that that was necessarily a good thing. There were collaborators everywhere.

"I hate to sound cliched," he said hoarsely, "but where am I?"

"Bucky! You're awake!" That was Steve's voice, and he sounded ecstatic. Bucky relaxed a little.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"About an hour, on and off," Steve replied. "You were only unconscious for about five minutes, but their medic gave you something for the pain that made you drop straight off to sleep."

" _Their_ medic? Who are 'they'?" Bucky said.

" _La resistance!_ " Dernier said proudly.

"You missed all the fun," Gabe said. "Dernier's pals showed up just after you got taken out. A whole load of them, armed with whatever they could find. Swear to God, I saw a teenage girl beat a guy's head in with a shovel. It was beautiful."

"Kinda makes a change, having the French save _our_ asses for once," Dugan said.

Dernier sniffed. "Ingrate."

Bucky shuffled along the floor and pulled himself up on to the bench, steadying himself against Steve's side. Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and held him in place, solid and comforting. Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder.

"You're okay, buddy," Steve said quietly. "We'll get you patched up as soon as we get there."

"Where are we going?" Bucky asked.

"They didn't say," Steve said. "'A safe place', that's as much as they'd tell us."

"So we're not going back to a town or anything?"

"No, I asked them about that. They said we'd be too conspicuous."

"Conspicuous?"

"Well, let's face it, we're kinda memorable," Jim said. "You got Cap for a start, all done up in his stars and stripes - and then, even without him, we're desegregated, two of us ain't even American, and nobody in the whole US Army has a moustache as gaudy as Dum-Dum's."

"You got a problem with my moustache?" Dugan said.

"Not at all, it's very fetching!" Jim said. "I'm just sayin', even without the big blue guy, everyone we met would remember that funny little squad with the Brit, the Frog, the Jap, the Negro, and the guy with a dead squirrel under his nose. HYDRA wouldn't have much difficulty tracking us down."

"Hey, you're forgetting me," Bucky pointed out.

"You're way too normal for this outfit," Jim said. "You don't stand out."

"Oh, that's not fair," Steve said. "Bucky's the handsome one."

"Glad someone cares," Bucky mumbled, inwardly glowing at Steve's words and the way that huge hand had tightened slightly on his waist when he'd said it.

The truck juddered to a halt, sending pain jangling through Bucky's joints. One of the guys in the cabin called out something in French.

"Gentlemen," Dernier said, "we have arrived."

 

Bucky would say this for the French resistance, they had taste. The 'safe place' turned out to be a vast ruined chateau located high up in the mountains. Most of the building was too delapidated to be safely ventured into, but the habitable parts of the first and second floor were easily enough to accommodate twenty people, and the resistance had done their best to make it clean and comfortable. After the bare-bones camps, shabby little huts and even the occasional cave that the Commandos were more likely to find themselves sleeping in during missions, it made for a pleasant change.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bathtub in the largest washroom, trying to put on a brave face as Steve tended to his wounds. Considering he had such big hands, he still had an artist's delicacy of touch, a fact that Bucky was very grateful for as Steve daubed him with iodine.

"You're gonna be black and blue tomorrow, but nothing's broken, thank God," Steve said. "You could do with some rest, but I know you're not going to take it."

"You know me so well."

"Nobody would judge you for sitting out," Steve said. He leaned over, examining Bucky's eyes. "I don't think you're that badly concussed, but blacking out is kinda serious. Too much strain could make things worse."

Bucky scoffed, turning his head away. "Yeah, right. Nothing short of a missing limb's gonna keep me out of a fight."

"And if you did lose a limb, you'd just pick it up and beat the enemy over the head with it."

"Damn right," Bucky laughed. "Anyway, it's not as if you ever listened to me when I tried to stop you from getting hurt."

Steve smiled. "You've got a point there." He handed Bucky his shirt, helping him get his arms back through the sleeves. "This is strange, me being the one taking care of you."

"Think of it as payback," Bucky said.

"Oh heck, I've got a lot to pay back, then. D'you remember that time you had to un-dislocate my shoulder for me?"

"How could I forget? You squealed so loud I nearly went deaf." Bucky started doing up his buttons. "Or that time I'd spent three months talking Esther Riley into going on a date with me and bringing along a friend for you, and I was _this close_ to getting her to agree to come home with me when you had a nosebleed and got us thrown out of the diner."

"How do you think I felt? It ruined my banana split!" Steve smiled sheepishly, rubbing at his nose. "My nose has a habit of doing that. Or it _had_ , anyway. I haven't had any nosebleeds since I took the serum."

"Glad to hear it."

Steve sighed and leaned back against the basin. "Sometimes I wonder how long this is gonna last. I keep having nightmares about waking up to find I'm in my old body again, or that I've started aging too fast, or that my organs are suddenly all failing."

"Oh, you worry too much." Bucky stood up and stretched out, sore joints clicking. "You'll be fine. Dr Erskine got it just right with you. Hell, even when he got it wrong, it's not as if the Red Skull is sick or anything. Just really, really ugly."

"Yeah, I guess. Yeah. You're right." Steve laughed sheepishly. "You know what I'm like, always fussing about things. You know, I -" He stopped.

"You what?"

"Ah, it doesn't matter. It was kinda corny."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "That never stopped you before. Go on. Spit it out."

"I was just gonna say, I'm glad you're here," Steve said. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

"Aw, you big sap," Bucky said. He punched Steve lightly on the arm, and instantly wished he hadn't. Those biceps were as solid as oak.

Steve smiled fondly and Bucky smiled back. The moment lingered just a tiny bit too long before Steve very abruptly looked down and checked his watch. "I'd best go see if I can radio back to Command. They'd probably like to know what's happening, and I could do with some advice." He sighed. "Should've thought to bring along an intelligence officer."

"Nah, a map guy's no use in a fight," Bucky said. "It's their job to find out little details like whether HYDRA soldiers know how to fly. You call 'em and see what they've got to say themselves."

Steve turned to leave. He was almost at the door when Bucky dashed up to him, catching him by the sleeve. "One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Give my love to Agent Carter."

Steve grinned. "Sure thing."

 

When Bucky rejoined the others, he found they'd already got quite a little party going. There was hot rabbit stew on the stove and drink flowing freely, and all the resistance fighters expected in return was a limitless supply of anecdotes. That was easier said than done when Gabe had to translate and everyone kept exaggerating their own role then arguing over the specifics, but as long as everyone's wine glass was topped up regularly, nobody seemed to mind.

It was good fun, but he couldn't help constantly looking back at the door, wondering when Steve was going to join them. When an hour had passed and Steve still hadn't shown up, Bucky made his excuses and went off to find him.

He finally discovered him in a tiny, chilly room that must have once been part of the servants' quarters, murmuring into a battered old radio set.

Bucky paused by the doorway, taking a moment just to watch him. He couldn't hear what Steve was saying, but his expression was gentle and relaxed, the flickering candlelight catching his hair and eyelashes and turning them golden. It was probably just the wine, but Bucky felt a faint stir of arousal at the base of his stomach.

He moved a little closer.

"I believe that's everything covered." Agent Carter's voice was crackling through the radio speaker. "In which case, it's only left for me to wish the best of luck to you and your men. Do come back safely."

"You can count on me, ma'am," Steve said.

"I know I can, Captain," Carter said. "And please, call me Peggy."

Steve bit his lip. Bucky stepped a little nearer again, a floorboard creaking loudly underfoot. Startled, Steve swivelled round.

"Captain? Is something the matter?"

"Bucky just crept up on me and caught me by surprise," Steve said, turning back to the radio. "I guess the guys must have been wondering where I am."

"Well, don't let me keep you," Carter said. "I hope I'll see you soon, Captain."

"Looking forward to it, ma'am. I mean, Peggy."

Steve shut off the radio. Bucky leaned against the door frame, giving him a grin that verged perilously close to being a leer.

"How's it going down there?" Steve asked.

"Ah, they're having a whale of a time," Bucky said. "I just wanted to see where you'd got to, that was all. I'd have left you alone if I'd known you were exchanging sweet nothings with Agent Carter."

Steve flushed red. "I was _not_."

"Well, you shoulda been." Bucky strolled into the room and sat down on the edge of the desk, facing Steve.

"Do you really think she likes me?" Steve said.

Bucky burst out laughing. "Jesus Christ, Steve - 'do you really think she likes me'? Every time we meet her she looks like she's doing her best not to leap over the desk and jump you!" He wiped his eyes. "Oh boy, you haven't changed. You've got the body of a god and the social skills of a hamster."

"So that's a 'yes', then?" Steve said doubtfully.

Bucky nodded vigorously. "Buddy, right now, you are catnip to women. As I speak, there's three gorgeous French dames downstairs who've been doing nothing but asking where you are and sighing every time I said I didn't know. You just say the word and you could be up to your ears in pussy."

Steve swallowed, hard. "Well. I don't think that'd be appropriate."

"Who gives a damn about appropriate?" Bucky rolled his eyes. "Do you even _like_ girls?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean, I -" Steve had gone almost as red as the stripes on his shirt. "Of course I do," he said, not sounding very convinced by his own words. "Of _course_ I do. You know I do."

Bucky shrugged. "I wouldn't have a problem if you didn't."

"I'm not a queer."

This was a conversation that had played out many times before - or Before - and it almost always ended up at this point, with Steve claiming that he was waiting for that special woman, with Bucky trying to encourage him to grasp that you could have sex without love and soothe the itch without rendering yourself incapable of having sex with love later on, with too much alcohol being consumed by both parties and Bucky eventually, flippantly, accusing Steve of preferring men, which was usually the cue for Steve to storm out of the room and go sulk somewhere else.

Bucky had never been brave or stupid enough to tell Steve that he'd slept with men himself and actually quite enjoyed it. And he'd certainly never been so foolish as to reach out and touch Steve's face. But he'd taken a knock to the head that morning, and then thoughtlessly had wine on top of that, and now the world was spinning and Steve was at its centre and all he wanted to do was kiss that lost expression off his face.

"You ever thought of giving it a go?" he said, lightly caressing Steve's cheek.

Steve's chairlegs squealed against the floorboards as he backed away.

"You're drunk," he said, clapping a hand to his face like Bucky's touch had burned him.

"Yeah, but I'm not a bullshitter." He flung himself backwards, striking a pose across the desk. "How about it, big boy?"

Steve made a horrible strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You're drunk, and you don't know what you're saying." For a moment, it was like the old Steve was back again: he was wide-eyed and terrified, every muscle drawn tense. "Go to bed, Bucky."

"Aw, c'mon -"

"Go to bed!"

The penny finally dropped. Bucky pushed himself off the desk, haughtily dusted himself down, and left the room without a word. Never mind bed. He was going to go back downstairs and have more wine. He didn't want to remember this come morning.

 

He woke the next day slumped over the kitchen table, head pounding and bruised body aching. He wasn't hungover, because despite his best intentions he had dozed off shortly after going back downstairs - he just felt beaten down and out of sorts and filled with a sense of regret that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Well, not until Steve appeared and he was instantly reminded of what he'd said the night before. If it was possible to die of embarrassment, he would have expired on the spot.

Unfortunately, Bucky was to be granted no such mercy. They carefully avoided looking at or speaking to one another over breakfast, and then Steve quickly made his excuses and found somewhere else to be for the rest of the day. Bucky whiled away the hours either catching up on his sleep or roaming the chateau grounds, using squirrels for target practice and forcing himself not to dwell on the events of the previous night.

It was a relief when darkness finally fell and the squad were called together again. Steve quickly briefed them on the new plan of action, and then they headed out into the night, hoping that this time luck would be on their side.

Chaperoned by a couple of the resistance fighters, they walked down into the valley and along the riverside, until they came to a spot where a dinghy was tethered to a tree.

"That's our transportation?" Jim said. "One single measly wooden rowboat?"

"You were expecting a battleship, maybe?" Falsworth said. "I like it. Takes me back to my Oxford days."

Jim folded his arms. "Well, I ain't rowing it."

"I didn't expect you to," Steve said. "Get in, everyone. I'll do the rowing. Dum-Dum, you hold the lantern. Gabe, you get behind me and act as lookout. I'm not going to be able to see where I'm going, after all."

"Me? I'd have thought you'd want Bucky to do that," Gabe said.

"Bucky took a nasty blow to the head yesterday," Steve said, casting a doubtful glance in Bucky's direction. "I don't want to put him under too much strain."

Bucky ground his teeth. Patronising asshole. He'd have almost preferred it if Steve had been horrified and disgusted by what he said, rather than trying to write it off as the result of an altered state of mind.

He said nothing, though, and took his place in the boat, leaning over the side with his rifle ready. If nothing else, a good night's fighting would help take his mind off things.

When they were all settled, their guide untied the rope and set them afloat, waving them goodbye with a final whispered, " _Bon courage!_ "

And then they were off, all silent but for the rhythmic splashing of the oars and Gabe's quiet instructions to bear a little more to the left or right. Bucky mostly kept his eyes trained ahead, looking out for danger, but once or twice permitted himself to glance back and watch Steve hard at work. If rowing seven people upriver was hard work for him, he showed no sign of tiring, the muscles of his shoulders and chest smoothly rippling under his shirt.

They rounded a bend, and there it was. The forest had been hacked and burned away to make a clearing, in which stood a large, ugly grey building, ringed by a tall wire fence. There seemed to be some kind of landing stage or loading area right by the riverside, illuminated by a bright spotlight. The area appeared unguarded, but Bucky had no doubt that there were troops ready to spring into action at the first sign of intruders.

Dugan shut off the lantern. Bucky had expected Steve to slow his pace and steer them to shore so they could finish the approach on foot, but instead, he speeded up.

"I think we should land soon," Bucky said.

Steve just kept on paddling. They were right by the base now. Bucky's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his rifle.

"We're not going the whole way there by boat, are we?" he said.

"It's the fastest way," Steve grunted, rowing even faster. "Load and lock, everyone."

Bucky felt doubtful, but before he had time to make any further objections, his attention was diverted by the sight of a patrolling sentry in the distance. The guard stopped mid-pace and turned to stare right at them, reaching for his weapon.

Bucky fired. The sentry crumpled to the ground. Unfortunately, that only served to attract more attention. Out of nowhere, guards started to swarm around the fence, a couple removing their fallen comrade from the scene, others firing wildly through the wire mesh.

"What did you do that for?" Steve hissed.

"He was going to shoot at us!" Bucky said.

"Well, they're all shooting at us now!"

More guards emerged from the building and charged towards the riverbank. A bullet glanced off the side of the boat, tearing off a strip of wood. Water began pouring in.

Steve hastily rowed to the far side of the river, the seven of them scrambling on to solid ground just as the boat finally fell apart underneath them.

"Why didn't you land earlier?" Bucky yelled as Steve guided them to cover behind a fallen oak tree, bullets bouncing off his shield.

"Why did _you_ shoot?"

"Oh, like they weren't going to notice a guy in bright blue long-johns paddling very fast towards them!"

"And what would you have done? They'd have noticed us just as fast if we'd walked!"

"We should've taken a bigger boat! One with guns!"

"Where would we have got one from?"

"Uh, Cap," Gabe said, tapping Steve on the shoulder, "They're coming after us."

Several HYDRA troopers had jumped into a small motorboat and appeared to be arguing over how to get it started.

"Good," Steve said. "When they land, we overpower them, take their boat, and drive full speed to the other riverbank. Then we'll fight our way through into the factory."

"That's never going to work," Bucky said.

"We've done it before."

"Not with just us seven, not when they were expecting us."

"They're nearly across!" Gabe shouted.

"This is suicide," Bucky muttered.

"If you have problems taking orders from me, you can stay back here," Steve snapped. He didn't look angry so much as hurt. And under that, maybe a little bit scared. Well, serve him right. He ought to be scared. They were about to get their asses kicked because of him.

"Don't wanna interrupt your important discussion, fellas, but they're almost here," Dugan said. He grasped the rim of his bowler hat, making sure it sat firmly on his head.

Bucky sighed, readied his rifle, and followed as Steve led them in to a charge.

They leapt over the tree just as the HYDRA troopers stepped out on to the shore. Steve knocked them aside with a few easy swipes of his shield and led the way on to the boat. Dugan fired off a couple of bursts for safety's sake, and then they were motoring across the river.

The boat had a machine gun mounted at its prow. Dernier leapt up and opened fire on the guards on the far riverbank, sending them scurrying to find shelter. The few still waiting when they touched land were easily dealt with, leaving the coast clear to attempt an entrance. The squad followed in a ragged line behind Steve as he led the way to the nearest door.

One well-aimed kick from him was enough to tear the door from its hinges. It wobbled in place and then slowly fell forward, landing with a deafening boom. The guards and workers on the factory floor all turned and stared. Dugan waved at them.

"Good evening," he said, tipping his hat. Around him, the rest of the squad raised their weapons, allowing a moment's dramatic pause before opening fire.

 

The first fifteen minutes were the worst. To avoid being pinned down and surrounded, they scattered, each one of them pursued by a swarm of frantic guards. Luckily for the Commandos, teaching their goons to shoot straight had never seemed to be one of HYDRA's top priorities. There was plenty of cover, and the guards had clearly been instructed to avoid damaging the precious machinery, so staying safe was not as hard as it might appear on first glance.

Nevertheless, it was far from easy. The guards worked together to close in around each individual, each squad member forced to concentrate simply on survival rather than completing their objective. However, just when Bucky was starting to despair of ever getting out of here in one piece, back-up arrived. The seven of them in the dinghy had only been the vanguard, serving to divert attention while their resistance allies crept up through the forest and down the mountain. They charged in with guns blazing, some on foot and others on motorcycles, stealing the guards' weapons and giving them to the factory workers. That was another one of HYDRA's big mistakes: using slave labour resulted in a factory full of people just waiting to take their chance for revenge, and the liberated workers were wildly enthusiastic about demolishing the very machinery they had sweated so hard to build.

While the rest of them wreaked havoc on the factory floor, gleefully smashing up munitions and equipment, Bucky scrambled up a ladder and onto a gantry running overhead. The bases seemed to all be built to the same design, and capturing the main control room was a swift route to victory.

Several guards came scrambling up after him. One of them reached out and tried to grab his ankle; he stomped on the man's fingers and kicked him in the face, hastily scurrying onwards before any more of them could try their luck. He took out his sidearm and shot a guard approaching him from the other direction, and turned just in time to catch one coming up behind him. There was a brief, awkward scuffle which resulted in Bucky pushing the other man off the gantry. The thud as he hit the floor made Bucky wince, but he didn't have time to reflect on what he had done. He just kept on moving.

A fire had broken out in part of the factory, which meant the usual route was too risky. Instead, he hopped on to a narrow ledge, clinging to the wall, inching his way along. He was only a yard away from being able to step onto a more stable walkway when an explosion made everything shake and his foot skidded on the smooth, damp metal. He couldn't regain his balance - he was falling backwards - and just as his life was starting to flash before his eyes, he felt a strong hand catch him by the collar. He felt himself lifted in the air and dropped roughly down onto the walkway.

He turned round to see Steve looming over him.

"Thanks, buddy," Bucky said, mopping his sweat-soaked brow. "For a minute there I thought I was in trouble."

"Any time." Steve smiled, then reached out and grabbed Bucky's wrist. "C'mon, we can't hang around."

They raced along the walkway as the factory started to disintegrate around them, Steve holding his shield up to deflect stray bullets and falling chunks of metalwork.

"I'm real sorry about last night!" Bucky yelled as they ran.

"It's okay!" Steve shouted back. "Now hang on tight!" He grabbed Bucky, tucking him under his arm, and leapt. He caught hold of a dangling cable and swung them round to land on a nearby platform, landing in the midst of a group of startled troopers. Bucky slipped free and moved to guard Steve's back, raising his rifle to keep the oncomers at bay.

"I never meant to make things difficult between us," Bucky said, whacking a man around the head with the butt of his rifle.

"No, it's my fault for being so uptight," Steve said, clobbering three guys at once with one well-aimed swing of his shield. He caught hold of Bucky's arm and made a break for it again, continuing, "I'd never judge you for who you are, Bucky."

"Glad to hear it!" Bucky said, turning to shoot a pursuer before following Steve through the doorway. They had moved out of the central hall and into a quieter part of the base, to where the offices were. They raced up a carpeted stairway and through a corridor towards the main control room, shoving their way past startled typists and filing clerks.

"I did overstep the mark, though, and I really can't tell you how embarrassed I am," Bucky said, as Steve kicked down a door.

"Oh, it's fine," Steve said, waving it off and accidentally taking a chunk of the wall out with his shield. "Truth is, I didn't even -"

He stopped mid-sentence, swinging round to take out another guard. Bucky ducked behind him as a grenade headed their way, then popped out again when Steve picked it up and hurled it back.

"You didn't even what?" Bucky asked.

"That is, I wasn't -" A very angry, red-faced man had got up from behind his desk and was either telling them to go away or demanding explanations. Steve lightly tapped him on the head with his fist, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"After you," Steve said.

Bucky stepped in to the control room. It was a far plusher affair than the one in Italy, with oak panelling and leather seating. Much of it looked like a traditional office, but for the huge plate-glass window facing out over the factory floor, and the bank of controls just in front of it. Steve locked the door, then picked up a bookcase and placed it in front of the doorway, just in case.

"Well, here we are," Bucky said, wandering over to the window. Steve went to the filing cabinets and started rifling through, pulling out dossiers and blueprints and other valuable documents.

Bucky turned and looked at him. "So, what were you going to say?"

Steve glanced round. "Oh, it doesn't matter now."

"Yeah, it does."

"You have the worst timing, you know that?"

He tucked the papers under his arm and walked towards Bucky, reaching out to lay a hand gently on Bucky's shoulder.

"I have spent fifteen years wishing you were interested in me," Steve said sadly. "I used to lie awake imagining you saying exactly the sort of things you said to me last night. But not in the middle of a top-secret, highly dangerous mission. And definitely not with you drunk and concussed."

Bucky reached up and placed his hand over Steve's. "I meant every damn word of it. The wine and the knock to the head just gave me the confidence I needed." He paused. "Though, okay, I'll admit the timing wasn't perfect."

"The timing was _awful_ , Bucky," Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. "Better late than never, right?"

Steve considered it. A smile spread across his face like the sun rising on a spring morning, a slow beautiful thing that made Bucky feel giddy with joy.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said.

"Any chance of a kiss?" Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, worst timing ever," he said. Then his expression softened, and he stepped closer. "Still, better late than never."

Bucky felt Steve's arms slide around his waist. In response, he wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders and closed his eyes, lips tingling in anticipation. Slowly, they leaned in towards each other.

Their noses banged against each other. Steve swore under his breath, and Bucky started laughing, and he was still laughing when Steve tilted his head a little further to the right and actually kissed him. It was messy and graceless, but it made Bucky feel like his heart was going to thump right out of his chest. He kissed back, pushing up on his toes, gripping Steve's shoulders tightly. Steve tightened his arms around Bucky's waist and deepened the kiss, drawing a low moan from Bucky's throat as he slowly licked inwards.

It would've been one of the most perfect moments of Bucky's life, if he hadn't gone and spoiled things by accidentally leaning on the self-destruct button.

 

Luckily, everyone managed to escape in one piece (which was more than could be said for the factory), and the Commandos and the resistance celebrated long into the night. It felt like almost every inhabitant of the valley had come up to the chateau to join the party, most bringing food or drink or music along with them.

Bucky found himself in the kitchen dancing a foxtrot with a gorgeous, doe-eyed brunette - she hadn't known how to dance like an American at first, but Bucky was a good teacher. As they twirled past the stove, she leaned up and whispered something into Bucky's ear. Gabe overheard them and burst out laughing.

"That means she likes you!" he called.

Any other night, Bucky would've been tempted, but as they turned again he saw Steve sitting at the far end of the table, watching him with fond amusement.

" _Tres charmant, madame_ ," he said to the girl, disentangling himself from her arms, "But I think I'm already spoken for tonight."

He kissed her hand, glancing up at her with a look that he hoped would convey the right amount of attraction and contrition, then straightened up and sauntered over to Steve.

"Congratulations on some very fine leadership tonight, Captain," Bucky said, pushing aside a half-eaten loaf so he could sit on the table.

"And congratulations on your quick thinking and excellent shooting, Sergeant," Steve replied. "Couldn't have done it without you."

Bucky smiled slowly, leaning in close so only Steve could hear him.

"You want to continue the party upstairs?"

Steve blushed, but there was a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'd love to."

They quietly departed, slipping up the narrow staircase. As they reached the top, Bucky caught Steve's hand and twined their fingers together. He led him across the landing, past the cramped servants' quarters, and towards the master bedroom. The place was a shambles, antique furniture wrecked by having grubby soldiers sacked out in it every night, but the giant four-poster bed in the centre looked clean and comfortable and thankfully unoccupied.

Bucky lit the lamp, then bolted the door securely behind them.

They turned to face one another.

"So," Steve said.

"Well," Bucky replied.

There was a moment of silence that felt like it lasted for hours, broken when Steve suddenly started giggling.

"Oh god," he said, dragging a hand down his face, "I'm more nervous than I was out on the river."

"Nervous? You?" Bucky said.

Steve shrugged. "Fighting's easy. Emotions aren't." He sat down on the bed, springs squealing under his weight. "It's been a bit too much all at once."

"Tell me about it," Bucky said, sitting down beside him. He shuffled up close to Steve, wrapping his arm around his waist and leaning against his side. "In fact, why don't you start with that whole 'waiting fifteen years' deal?"

"Oh, god, do I have to?" Steve said, laughing. "Okay. Right. I think you've already figured this out, but I like guys as well as girls."

"Truth be told, if it wasn't for you always pining after broads, I'd have had you down as a full-blown homo," Bucky said. Steve gave him a look. He hastily went on, "You being an artist and all that. And being so tidy and polite. And having all those bodybuilding magazines you kept under the loose floorboard in your room which you didn't think anyone else knew about."

Steve went red. "You found those?"

"Found 'em, jerked off to 'em, put them back," Bucky nodded. "But where do I come in, huh?"

"Hey, you were my hero," Steve said. "You were smarter than me, cooler than me, always turned up in time to save my ass from a beating... everyone we met wanted a piece of you. I wasn't any different. The real question is, how come you've suddenly taken a shine to me?" He paused. "Nah, forget that. I already know the answer to that one." He didn't look all that happy about it, either. Bucky leaned up and kissed his cheek, lowering his head to rest against Steve's shoulder.

"If you think I'm only after you for your looks, think again," he said. "I mean, they help... but that ain't it. It's more - well, you were always so angry and fragile, I always felt like one wrong move and something or someone would break you. And now, Jesus Christ, you don't even realise it but you're so fucking _awesome_. You kick down doors and throw guys through the air and fuck, there was that time in Denmark when you stopped a tank by punching it, I swear I nearly came in my pants. You're so confident now, and competent, too. You have no goddamn idea how sexy that is."

"Sure I do," Steve said. "You've always been like that."

Bucky grinned ear to ear. He couldn't help it.

"Well, then," he said, sliding his other hand over Steve's thigh, feeling his pulse beating quick and fast, "are we gonna sit here and sing each other's praises all night, or are you going to kiss me again?"

"Kiss you?" Steve said, smiling slyly. "Oh, I can think of some better things to do than just kissing..."

 

Bucky woke slowly the following day. He didn't have to go anywhere or do anything, and he could sleep in as long as he liked. It wasn't a luxury he'd had very often back home, let alone during wartime.

He ached all over, even worse than he had done the morning before, but he felt wonderfully relaxed. The bed was soft and cosy, and best of all, he had a warm, naked body lying beside him. If he could just get hold of a cup of coffee and some hot buttered toast without having to leave the room, things would be just perfect.

Steve was still asleep. Bucky propped himself up on one elbow and let himself just watch him for a moment. He'd always thought Steve was adorable when he was sleeping, untroubled by the worries he carried around during the day, and all sprawled out in white sheets and lit up by the morning sun, he looked downright angelic. It was all a facade, of course. Bucky had learned in great detail last night that Steve was anything but innocent. He might not have had much practical experience, but he was an expert on the theory.

He couldn't help it - he had to touch him. Bucky reached out and lightly trailed his fingertips over Steve's cheek and neck, sliding down over those impossibly broad shoulders.

Steve stirred and opened one eye. Seeing Bucky, he smiled.

"G'morning," he mumbled.

"Morning yourself," Bucky replied. He nudged in for a long, deep kiss, wriggling closer until they touched along the length of their bodies. He rested a hand over Steve's chest, feeling his slow, steady heartbeat. It really wasn't fair - thanks to his enhanced immune system, Steve's skin was as smooth and unblemished as if he'd just come back from a two-week spa holiday, whereas Bucky was covered in cuts and bruises.

Maybe that was a good thing, though. With so many other old wounds scattered across his body, nobody would notice the hickeys on his neck or the finger-shaped marks on his wrists and hips. Only he would know their origin, and would feel a warm tingle sweep over him every time he caught sight of one of the places where Steve had laid claim to him. It was just a pity he couldn't mark Steve the same way.

"God, look at you," he murmured, circling a finger around one of Steve's nipples. "It's like a goddamn mountain range or something."

Steve gave him a baffled look. Bucky grinned and began to move his fingers like they were walking.

"The intrepid explorer ventures into the rarely-travelled territory of Steve's Chest," he said, tapping his fingers over the curve of a pectoral and down into the dip of his sternum. Steve laughed quietly, chest rumbling against Bucky's hand.

"Sensing the tremors of a distant earthquake, the traveller heads south, down into rocky terrain," Bucky continued, walking his fingers over Steve's stomach. Steve laughed and squirmed, which only made Bucky linger longer, taking a meandering path around each one of his preposterously well-defined abs.

"After hours of wandering, our bold hero emerges from the canyon, only to plunge into the depths of the jungle!" Steve started weeping with laughter as Bucky's fingers tangled into his pubic hair, laughter suddenly cut off by a moan as they rubbed lightly over his balls.

"But what the foolish traveller has not realised," Bucky continued, tickling the insides of Steve's thighs, "is that his blundering has awoken the great one-eyed beast! Sensing his approach, it stirs!"

Steve laughed again. "Bucky, this is silly - _oh!_ "

Before Steve could say anything else, Bucky closed his fingers around his cock. There were no further objections after that.

 

They eventually emerged from the bedroom an hour later, following the smell of frying bacon downstairs to the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Falsworth greeted them merrily. Clean-shaven, neatly attired and in high spirits, he made a stark contrast to the rest of the Commandos, who looked like they were barely clinging on to life. Dernier was grimly downing cup after cup of strong black coffee. Gabe and Jim appeared to have dozed off leaning on each other's shoulders. Even Dum-Dum looked kind of green around the gills.

"You're just in time, chaps, I'm cooking up a full English breakfast," Falsworth continued. "Just the ticket after a heavy night."

"How the hell are you so cheerful?" Gabe grumbled, without bothering to move or open his eyes.

"Pint of water before bedtime. Makes you piss like a racehorse, but it's worth it."

Dernier muttered something in French that was probably quite rude, and slouched over to the stove to brew up more coffee.

Steve took a seat at the table, pulling one out for Bucky.

"How about you, Dugan, did you sleep alright?" Steve said.

Dum-Dum gave him a bleary, unfocussed look. "Here's a tip for you, Cap - if someone offers you absinthe, just say no. I've never been so sick in my life."

"It was like Niagara Falls," Jim said. "Except green."

"Oh, thanks for that, Jim," Bucky said, cringing. "Just what I want to hear while eating."

"You did ask," Jim said.

"Alright, look lively, breakfast's here," Falsworth said, coming up to the table to dish out the food. He gave Steve by far the most generous serving, piling his plate with bacon, sausages, fried eggs and others besides, including one or two items that Bucky couldn't identify.

"How come he gets the most?" Gabe said.

"Well, for one, he's our Captain," Falsworth said, "And two, Colonel Phillips told me he has a metabolism four times faster than normal. Therefore, I presume he needs to eat four times as much. We don't want him wasting away."

There seemed to be very little danger of that, as Steve tucked in to the meal with gusto. He practically inhaled most of the meat, stopping only to examine a strange black disc on the end of his fork.

"What's this?" he said.

"Black pudding," Falsworth said. "Or rather, some Frog approximation thereof, but it'll do."

"Pudding? In a breakfast?"

"It's entirely savoury," Falsworth said. "Anyway, you people put maple syrup on bacon. A little congealed blood sausage is hardly stranger than that."

Steve grimaced and carefully pushed his serving of black pudding to the side of the plate. Dernier swooped in with his fork and took it from him.

"So, Cap, what's the plan?" Dugan said, looking much more healthy now he'd had something to eat. Steve considered it.

"Fried breakfast and aspirin all round, then you guys can do what you want while I radio HQ and ask them how they plan to get us back to England," Steve said. "I need to get back in contact with them pretty soon; Agent Carter'll be expecting me to tell her all about how the raid went."

Bucky grinned and nudged Steve's arm. "Looking forward to Peggy giving you a debriefing?"

Steve laughed. "Oh, Bucky. You know the only briefs I'm interested in are yours."

The Commandos all burst out laughing, but only Bucky caught the look in Steve's eye, half affection and half lust. He reached under the table and squeezed Steve's knee; he felt Steve's hand squeeze back.

And then the moment passed and Falsworth was coming round with second helpings, and Jim and Dugan were arguing over who got the last sausage, and Gabe knocked over Dernier's coffee, and somewhere in the distance there was an ominous creaking which suggested one of the rotten staircases was going to finally cave in - and really, it was just like it was when he was a kid in New York, scrapping over breakfast at the children's home. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. And as long as Bucky could keep on getting into trouble with Steve Rogers, that was just the way he liked it.


End file.
